Trust Me, You’re Not A Genius.

The final leap, speaks and tweaks the insufficiency within the conceptualized excellence of being a genius, the learner of the learned boast subtly to the claims they’re just experiencing the experience that has been novelized before. Needlessly altering the way you could of ever felt feeling that happening, especially without the input output technique that has been regurgitated fifty times this week. There is a marketing ploy here, as ever, too clever you’d assume to be considered a fastidious tool, heightened to the evidence but not one to judge, merely vocalized with an attention span too quick to dither.

There is wither, like a sliver of salmon upon the heated rock there is too much fire and not enough smoke, or to toke on the tension surrounding the austerity of prosperity. The damage has been done and so in the bleak, bane of binding rain and clouds the endless cartridge…